The rush to lay claim to worlds was a terrible reminder of the dark eons. Once again it was I and the other elder gods who averted disaster... for a time. We handed the worlds out to our own, to experienced and worthy owners, to rule over and shape to bear the best harvests of divinity.
Naturally we shared our new prizes with the lesser, younger gods too. Those who proved their good character and worth through their service were granted their own shares to farm.
One god might cultivate the faith of humans, while another would become the god to dwarves, and so forth. All would pass a fitting tithe on to the elder god they served.
None could be allowed to grow too great, lest they think to conspire against us.
There were already dangers enough from my fellow elder gods there. Myr’s allies saw he was granted an especially fertile world – once more they were conspiring against me, all of them.
They knew I was the greatest of the gods. In their paranoia they sought to hold me back. Or worse yet, perhaps they meant to tear me down and claim my place?
Long gone was the age of cooperation and mutual prosperity.
Even the lesser gods were growing strong on the new wells of nourishing faith we had tapped, and as I ascended to new heights so too did my enemies. Myr’s Arcadia was a world where the layers of reality were thinner even than my own; every passing age saw him grow stronger.
I wasn’t the only one to see it of course, but nor was he the only threat. The other elder gods grew ever more fearful, recalling the times of horror, when the powerful were murderous tyrants over the weak. No-one wanted to be the weak this time.
Rather than do what was right for all of us – punishing those misusing the power of their worlds – the gods instead raced to each be the greatest exploiters.
Fear grew like a tumor in the heart of our society, as the gods each competed to claim the greatest share of divinity; sometimes at any cost.
It was my notion to use our divine tools and power to probe the fabric of reality through which divinity bubbled up. Through artifice and sorcery I peeled back the layers that kept us from the precious nectar that was the divine wind. I didn’t know what I was doing, or what it would cost.
Cyclops argued that what I was doing was too dangerous. I was meddling with the foundations of Existence; we had no idea what consequences that could have.
I told myself she was merely jealous – the lesser gods would not hesitate were they in command.
What choice was there? Even if I ignored this knowledge, Myr would not. It was a matter of time before he made his own attempt. By beating him to it I could put an end to the conflicts before it was too late. I would stand above all gods and end the deprivations that plagued our people. I would ensure true prosperity for all of us, through overwhelming force.
Soon I had learned to pierce the veils of the Astral Realm. I opened flows of divinity like none before, unimaginable supplies of energy.
Yet the other gods only coveted my abundance, untrusting that I would fairly share out the spoils.
They claimed I went too far, that my technique was too much power for any one of us. They sought to supplant me. Myr had poisoned them all against me and now their long nursed resentments were clear to see. They were all afraid of me, of the fair-handed justice I would mete out once I was the uncontested goddess of all Existence. Afraid and covetous in equal measure.
They rallied around my mortal foe, the wretched Trickster God. Now at last Myr’s machinations were revealed, as he and his puppets laid bare my techniques for all the gods to use.
Soon every god with a world of their own was delving into the method.
Myr had mastered the manipulation of space; he became the greatest expert in penetrating the Astral Realm. He had once again manipulated them all, and now his power grew out of control.
Others competed to keep up – we all knew the cost of falling behind in power. The stakes were too high to gamble on peace any longer. If I allowed it, Myr would grow too powerful to contain, so what option did I have? I could only grow my own power to match.
Looking back, we were all blind. Fools racing headlong towards destruction. In our paranoia and terror the old wounds of the dark eons had come to fester in our nightmares. I see that now. At the time all I saw was the impending doom spelled for me by the prosperity of others.
It was Myr who finally pushed too far.
He delved deeper than any had yet dared into the abyssal depths of the Astral Realm. It was he who unleashed the calamity. He opened the doors of reality to the vast and unknowable astral bodies that lurked under Creation.
From the deep they came; entities outside all understanding, welling up, emerging to consume all life.
It was only then, when it was too late, that I finally understood the insanity of what I had done. It was as the apocalypse washed over world after world, bursting forth from the tears in reality, and I watched gods turn to those very fonts of our ruin for the power to fight back.
They sought the strength to overcome the Deep Ones by widening the tears that had unleashed them.
Even if all they could do was to steal enough strength to save themselves they would condemn countless others.
Though it was inconceivable to me, some even refused even to trust the dire warnings that were spreading. In the face of the end of everything they argued it was just another plot, a scheme Myr had concocted, to trick them into giving up the power of the Astral Realm.
Some even said it was my own jealous attempt at revenge, for the stealing of my method.
The Deep Ones didn’t care.
They consumed the rational and the disbelievers alike, until none could deny the awful truth. We had delved too deep into the forbidden mysteries of Existence. We had awoken that which preyed upon gods.
Perhaps they had been waiting for us from our beginning, luring us to them like flies to honey. Perhaps they were simply defending their own domain against us, the intruders. They were not entities that could communicate to tell us. They could only destroy. It was Ragnarök.
Many gods perished in the fighting, their worlds reduced to lifeless husks, even their divine realms cracked open for the horrors to consume.
It was the dark eons anew, wrought by our own hands.
Mine most of all.
But it was not I who would save Existence. Nor was it Myr, or the other Elder Gods. It was Cyclops.
Dear, beautiful, wise Cyclops was our salvation.
She did what I no longer could – she united the gods. Without care for elder or lesser, for past deeds or misdeeds. She united us all to save Creation from the very disaster we had unleashed. Without her and the other lesser gods we had looked down on, nothing would remain of any of us now.
She turned back the tide of the apocalypse.
Cyclops led the charge into battle against the Deep Ones, again and again, at the head of an army of all gods, and countless other beings besides. Each time we pushed the enemy back, forcing them out of Creation and back into the Abyss. She taught us to save ourselves.
She taught us to save each other.
I will never forget the sight of her, brighter than my sun in her golden raiment, wading into the heart of the enemy. Facing certain death she crushed unspeakable beings with her vast fists and suffocated them in her divine aura. Even her allies found their breath catch in their chests.
Yet she did it all knowing she would die – and many more alongside her.
Arcadia was the last breach, the deepest; the source of it all. Cyclops… never planned to come back from the final battle.
She threw herself into the heart of hell to save us, knowing it would be her grave.
Even mortally wounded, she fought on. When she should have collapsed from a thousand fatal injuries still she protected us – us who had doomed her!
She gave everything of herself to fight back the flood of evil and allow us to close the rifts we had opened.
When it was all over, when Existence was saved, even as she was dying of her wounds… she… told me… to tend to the others. There were so many wounded, weaker gods than she. They… were to be saved first.
Cyclops died there, on Arcadia.
She died so that others could live. Not just we gods, but even the mortals we saw as no more than cattle.
She had become a greater god than I could ever be, but even she could not have saved us alone. In the wake of her passing there were great changes to our society. The elder gods would no longer stand over others. There would be no more rulers or subjects.
Interfering with the depths of the Astral Realm became strictly forbidden. There were fingers pointed after what had occurred, but too few of us were innocent. In the end Cyclops’ wishes won out. There would be no bloody retribution, no horrible aftershocks. Perhaps after all the death and killing we couldn’t bear any more.
We formed councils. Pantheons, as they would come to be known, to share out the responsibility for the worlds we managed and to hold to account those abusing their power. No longer would we allow one god or one group to control the fates of us all.
I took over responsibility for Arcadia.
Not to exploit it, but to restore the world that had been so ravaged. It was far from the only one to need healing, but I couldn’t allow anyone else to bury Cyclops. I would raise up a monument to her that would last until the end of time.
That task is complete now. Our lost savior is entombed. All Arcadians will know her name, even if the mortals cannot know her true deeds.
I wonder now why I created this record, when I can never share it. Perhaps it will suffice simply to have a record of her life and her deeds, some lasting memory. Perhaps this is my confession.
For now I must return to my work, to the restoration and management of Arcadia. The faith of the mortals cannot go unanswered. In return for the sustenance they provide us we shall be their protectors.
Truly my work will never be done. But I’m tired. So very tired.
Perhaps we gods live too long? Eternity is a terribly long time to live with yourself.
============
Deep underground, far below the forgotten dwarven ruins, hissing pneumatics turned a series of interlocking gears and wheels set into a wall, lining up cut-out segments that formed a passage into the chamber ahead.
Metal clanked on bedrock as a ten-foot figure in full plate entered. It emerged on the other side into a gaping rift in the stone, which formed a towering chamber. The narrowing walls reached up past the range of the meager illumination. It was provided by glowing gems set into the floor, encircling the chamber with a ring of green light. In a few places the gems flickered or had burned out, giving the chamber a ghostly aspect.
A glittering iridescent crystal stood at the head of the room, shaped somehow into the form of a throne that put all others to shame. It sat empty, but still guards flanked the imposing structure.
The guards themselves were equally unusual; awkwardly-moving three-legged and three-armed creatures clad in articulated metal armor. Their central bodies were almost spherical, with no sign of a head or other features. The overall impression was not unlike pairs of geopods strapped together, one upside down atop the other.
Each of their six limbs had two joints equally spaced along the length and ended in a round, symmetrical ‘hand’. Each hand had three stubby, fat fingers which, if closed, sealed up into a pointed fist.
The humanoid figure passed by the empty throne and guards to enter a side chamber. Inside others like it knelt against extending walkways, like vessels at a tiny dock. Their chest-pieces were split open on elaborate hinges to reveal cockpits in their upper torsos.
The newcomer knelt at an empty station. With a clicking whirr the armor blossomed like a flower, opening to disgorge its occupant.
In the space below the cockpit itself an array of gemstones was visible within a sealed chamber. Each gem was inscribed with luminous runic designs, the precious stones slotted into concentric rings, like children around a huge central parent which throbbed with a green glow. The spectral heartbeat illuminated the fluid in which they were held and sent it circulating through the strange vehicle.
The pilot himself was no more than a foot tall, not unlike a young human in proportions or complexion. Seen in silhouette he might have passed for a boy of around ten, but no human had teeth and nails that glittered in the light like cut crystal.
His nose was too long and pointed for a human too, set in cheeks with a slight pink to them, brushed by tousled red hair that he wore down to the neck. Despite his crooked proboscis the overall impression was of a creature in his teenage years.
His attire belied any idea of youth however; formal silk doublet, breeches and stockings that better fit a noble or minister. His feet were shod in an odd, soft material. It was a dark brown, with a spongy consistency, cut into strips and woven to make shoes. Between those and his weedy build it was clear he didn’t do a great deal of walking under his own power.
Passing through another, smaller doorway, he entered a lower chamber befitting his stature. The room was lit by the same green crystal light as the throne room, filled by a long table where more of his kind awaited. All had a similarly youthful look to them and the same style of dress, male and female alike.
At the head of the table the eldest attendee scowled, bulbous nose red.
“You are late, Ivaldi!”
He barked from behind an impressive grey handlebar moustache and elongated eyebrows like wings, both quite out of place on a face that otherwise looked not a day over twenty.
“Your mother was just the same; don’t let it become your family hallmark!”
Ivaldi took a seat at the right hand of the irascible old Justicar Hreidmar, murmuring his ignored excuse.
He saw Reginn sniggering across the table. He glared at the handsome young general, who met his eye with a defiant wink.
“We have much to discuss, Justicar,” spoke up the woman opposite Ivaldi, who might have been his twin but for her short button-nose and malachite smile. “Perhaps General Reginn can update us on the war on the surface.”
Ivaldi mouthed a silent thanks to his sister, Ingeborg, and she nodded back as Reginn began his report.
The general passed around sheets of polished glass. Within each, runes seemed to hover; suspended in the silica to etch out depictions of key figures and information. They were a luxury few Pharyes could afford, especially in recent centuries, but parchment hadn’t been seen in the kingdom in thousands of years. The council could hardly write their reports on mushroom leather.
The Harpy Empire had been slow to respond to their initial attacks, just as the traitors had promised, but the critical stage was only just beginning.
For all their sophisticated works, the Pharyes had their match in the monsters of the surface world, at least to hear Reginn tell it. The key lay in taking advantage of the internal strife, and the element of surprise.
Already they had won a series of victories, crushing the Ogre town and dozens of small villages, while keeping the Harpies in the dark about their forces and their true goals.
The finer details of the campaign only made Ivaldi uncomfortable, talk of rounding up captives – hostages to be interned – but he made himself listen.
“So far we’ve met no major resistance, however we anticipate the arrival of the Valkyries at Southtown tomorrow or the day after. I have two legions of golems waiting for them and two hundred of our finest Varangians in their Skidbladnir. We shall outnumber them ten to one, even in our worst case scenario.”
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“How have Ivaldi’s modifications to the Skidbladnir performed?” Ingeborg asked.
“Marvelously. Iv – uh, chief aulogemscire Ivaldi’s done an impressive job producing the new filters.” Reginn boasted. “They’re protecting the pilots perfectly from the sun.”
“As they had better,” grunted the old curmudgeon at the head of the table. “What about magic? The surface monsters cast spells to destroy their enemies, are we certain they can’t counterattack with their sorcery?”
“Ah, uh, if I may,” Ivaldi spoke up. He continued when the justicar raised no objection.
“So, we had previously concluded that it shouldn’t be a problem, but as you instructed I’ve been gathering additional intelligence. My research is limited by the lack of direct information, but, well, from what I’ve been able to tell their magic appears to be based on reciting incantations to create supernatural attacks. It’s not actually that different from aulogemscis – some even use a gemstone as a locus for the formation! If my understanding is correct they’re producing similar effects to those of our inscribed gems, but they’re doing it within their bodies! It’s actually quite amazing that they can control the process organically! I shudder to think how surfacers must train, if they all produce magic from their bodies like that. It’s really no wonder their engineering is so primitive when-”
“Is there a point somewhere in this rambling monologue?”
“A-ah, yes Justicar, apologies.” Ivaldi nodded quickly. “Although they seem very different, the basic functions that their techniques can create are similar to ours, so we can safely assume they have comparable limitations. A Harpy casting a spell in the Eyrie can’t target a Pharyes here in the Deephold.”
“Keep investigating,” the mustachioed minister ordered. “Now, General, will our gemstone reserves hold out if the campaign proceeds as planned?”
Reginn nodded with smooth assurance. “Yes, Justicar Hreidmar. Our mines may have run low, but our reserves will be more than enough to last. Within a few successions we shall have the captured ogre mines up to full production and we will be able to reactivate another legion of golems.”
“Um… does this account for the increased demand for food?” Ivaldi asked, looking over the glass tablet. “Our laborers will require a double jewel ration. You know, just in case you hadn’t included that.”
“Of course it does, Iv, trust me. The captive ogres will also help limit the extra labor we need.”
“And the attack tomorrow?” another councilor asked. “Are we sure the ambush will work?”
“The Harpies think we’ll sit and wait for them to come to us. They still don’t understand the danger they’re in. Half their leaders don’t even know we exist, the rest think we’re their allies,” Reginn boasted.
“But to draw forces away from Southtown for a strike now, is this not dangerous?”
Reginn shook his head, his confident golden smile dazzling any opposition as ever it did. “The Harpies have made a critical mistake at the most dangerous time. They don’t have the numbers to face us with Valkyries alone. They should have waited, mustered their other forces. You have nothing to worry about, councilor.”
The meeting went on, hours passing by as they discussed various reports too ‘trivial’ or ‘tiresome’ for the king himself to bother with. It seemed that in recent years that included most of the business of running the kingdom.
There was no day or night in the kingdom of the Pharyes, only a wheel of hours that all looked much the same. But even if it wasn’t night, Ivaldi was getting tired after being awake for more than twenty hours.
He had planned on returning to his warren to get some much needed sleep when the meeting finally ended, but Ingeborg waved him over as the councilors were breaking up for the wheel.
Ivaldi pondered making some excuse, but he saw General Reginn over her shoulder. The blond-haired young soldier gave him a smile and he found his feet carrying him over to join them for drinks.
They departed together, each piloting their personal heirloom Skidbladnir out of the royal palace and up into the public districts. ‘Wearing’ the huge armored suits to court and council meetings was a wasteful display to Ivaldi – especially now when the Skidbladnir competed with the people themselves for precious jewel rations – but it was the custom. Such traditions were necessary to maintain the dignity of the Pharyes. So the Justicar said.
The caverns that were open to commonfolk were huge enough that even a ten-foot high Skidbladnir could easily navigate the streets and buildings, but looking down on the commoners from so high up was always a strange sensation.
Everyone knew to clear the way when an heirloom Skidbladnir walked through – only the warrior elites and the high nobles possessed those ancient, supernatural vehicles. Each was unique, a relic of ancient artisans and gemcraft that Ivaldi still struggled to understand.
The alehouse they visited was one of the better ones, with a dock for their vehicles and a separate entrance for those important enough to own one. Inside the tavern expanded into the bedrock behind the street side. They entered a large round chamber hollowed out from the stone, concentric galleries rising up the sides. Overhead a huge metal stalactite descended from the ceiling, carrying a suspended carillon that filled the place with upbeat music.
It was busy despite the hard times. The alehouse was a popular retreat among the bureaucrats and officers, as they still put a little carnelian powder in the drinks to give them a warm, sweet kick. That was illegal of course, a frivolous waste of gems, but somehow the government officials who drank there always forgot to report it.
Reginn downed a full ounce of mycobrew and ordered another right away. “Come now, Iv, drink up!” the general insisted, seeing that Ivaldi was falling behind and tipping his tankard back for him, leaving the other man spluttering on the thick and rich alcohol.
“Ugh, I told you I don’t have your appetite for it,” he protested.
“Oh hush, brother.” Ingeborg laughed, drinking a mushroom wine. “It’s Reginn’s treat after all, and it’s not often we all get to drink together.”
“That’s right. But tonight we’re celebrating! Our first real victory against the Harpies is tomorrow!” Reginn nodded, gripping the slighter Ivaldi in his muscular hand.
His glittering citrine grin could have won over even the Justicar.
Ivaldi was sharply aware of the touch lingering on his leg as he accepted another tankard, but had no objection.
“You really think it’s going to go that well?” he asked, as he took a more modest gulp this time. “Traditionally you drink after the battle not before.”
“Didn’t you hear me back in the council chamber? Ten to one, at worst! They take the bait and they’ll be lucky if they’re even able to retreat. That princess of theirs is as good as ours.”
Ivaldi sighed, nodding at his words.
“What? Come on, cheer up, it’s like you don’t even want us to win!” Reginn grinned, finishing a second drink already.
Ingeborg wasn’t far behind, and soon any idea of pacing himself was forgotten as Ivaldi struggled to keep up.
By the time their mixed fungal grills were ready Ivaldi was thoroughly drunk. Even Reginn had slowed down, the trio retiring to a booth to eat. Mushrooms were no substitute for the vital sustenance of jewels, but with gems rationed they were the next best thing. The bolete mushroom was particularly good that wheel, but Ivaldi had other things on his mind.
“Hey… Reginn? Sis?”
“Whah?” Ingeborg asked through a mouthful of morchella, splattering drips of sticky sauce on the table.
Ivaldi rubbed unhappily at a few that fell on his sleeve.
“If we win this war are we going to, you know, be okay?”
“What’s that meant to mean, Iv?” Reginn asked. “Of course we’ll be fine when we win! Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Back before The Fall, when we traded with the Dweomer, our cities were overflowing with people. Even just going back to the records from just after it happened, there were still twice as many Pharyes as there are now. If we can’t get enough gems from the mountains near the surface then our numbers are just going to keep going down. You know how many carats it takes to have a child? It’s a lot.”
Ingeborg sighed, after swallowing her mouthful. “You worry too much, brother. Enjoy your dinner already, this is a good crop.”
Reginn nodded in approval. “She’s right, Iv, we’re already doing what we have to. Other problems can wait. Right now we should be focusing on the matters at hand. Like where that server is with the wine!”
He tried to listen to them, but after chewing a mushroom morosely he found himself still coming back to his anxieties.
“Aren’t you worried about the Formorians, Reginn?” Ivaldi asked.
“Every day. Just like my father before me and grandmother before him. Doesn’t mean I let them spoil my dinner though.”
“We’ve never fought all the way through them to the surface before though.” Ivaldi spoke insistently.
“That’s because we never tried to,” Ingeborg said. “After The Fall we were totally cut off from the surface again, safe in our cities. Why risk getting involved with the savages and monsters on the surface? But that doesn’t mean we can’t. The time’s come to take a risk.”
Ivaldi nodded unhappily.
“If you ask me the bigger problem is the council,” she went on. “You heard that Justicar Hreidmar’s the only one allowed to meet with the king in private now? Royal decree. The rest of us have to wait for him to hold court. Long wait these days.”
“The king’s old, Ing,” Reginn said between bites. “He just doesn’t want everyone bothering him with the small stuff. You’d be the same way if you were that close to your second century.”
“That’s what Hreidmar said too,” Ingeborg replied. “But I hear differently from others at court. Did you know his cup-bearer was dismissed last succession? Some say he was seen slipping something into the king’s drink.”
“Everyone knows the king takes his wine sweet,” Reginn countered.
“Then why’s the man in a cell right now?”
Reginn had no answer for that one.
“That’s not all I’ve heard either. There have been all sorts of dismissals from the king’s personal staff.”
“So, uh, what are you saying, sister?” Ivaldi asked.
“Who manages the king’s personal staff?”
“The Justicar.”
“Who also happens to be the only person allowed to see the king alone.”
“No no no, this is crazy, Ing,” Reginn shook his head with the overemphasis of one several cups deep into the evening. “I’ve known Hreidmar for decades. My family have known him even longer. He’s loyal to the core.”
Ingeborg looked mollified, but the conversation had given Ivaldi a few ideas of his own. He shouldn’t say what he was thinking – even as members of the king’s council it would be dangerous to talk about – but the liquor emboldened him.
“If it’s not coming from the Justicar,” he muttered under his breath, “then doesn’t that mean it’s coming from the king?”
The other two were quiet against the bustle of the other patrons and the chimes of the music.
“Don’t either of you worry about why we’re doing all this? Attacking the surface? The Dweomer used to trade peacefully for what they needed. No-one had to die….”
“That was different, they were trading with humans, not monsters,” Reginn said.
Despite his assertive tone, his expression showed the uncertainty of one repeating a lesson told to them, rather than one learned directly.
“We didn’t even try. These monsters are smart enough to scheme and conspire with us, maybe they’re smart enough to trade too… and this plot, doesn’t it seem, I don’t know… wrong somehow?”
“Iv, keep your voice down,” Reginn warned him.
“But you know I’m right,” he hissed back.
“The king has grown… harsher over time,” Ingeborg admitted. “The punishments are more severe. Sometimes there’s no trial.”
“Only when the outcome would be obvious,” Reginn insisted. “The kings’ just doing what he has to, to keep us going in hard times.”
“Oh come on, if that’s all he wants then why are we attacking the surface instead of talking to them? People are already dying!” Ivaldi insisted.
Reginn was charming and handsome, but he only saw what he wanted to.
“Monsters, Iv, monsters are dying,” Reginn said, starting to look annoyed himself.
“What if we’re wrong about them? They have languages you know, but we never even tried talking to them! We just had the golems herd them into cages like animals! Besides, if they attacked us we could have fought them off, or just retreated back underground. They’re no threat to us!”
“Brother, quiet,” Ingeborg said, as a few heads turned.
“Fine,” Reginn growled, “Say you’re right, what then? What can we do about it? We’re already at war! We swore oaths, Iv, to the King and the people. We’ll all be dead if we don’t get fresh jewel supplies! What are you going to do?!”
“I don’t know, we could… we should…. Ask everyone to stop?”
The tension broke in an instant as Reginn and Ingeborg burst into laughter.
“You’re a buffoon, Iv, you really are,” Reginn chortled. “But I can’t say I don’t admire your idealism.”
~~~
After seeing off the Valkyries I spent the rest of the day hard at training. Come evening I joined Ael in the dining hall for dinner, then retired to my room for a badly needed bath.
The Harpies were polite about it, but I could tell I was starting to smell. It didn’t help that I’d skipped going back to my room and washing the previous night.
Ael had invited me back to her chambers again despite that, but Ventora reminded her of some other work that needed her attention, so she reluctantly gave up on another evening in drinking with a friend. She’d perked up a little when I agreed to go with her to the temple tomorrow night.
That left Agytha, Chione and I to see to my bathing. Able as I now was to conjure my own water and heat, I suggested that they just bring me the tub and let me handle the rest. Chione was fine with that, but Agytha insisted that she at least had to stay behind, to help wash my back.
While I wasn’t aware of my back being particularly dirty, there was a look about her that deterred me from arguing. Chione got the remainder of the evening off and Agytha got to stay.
Disrobing was another step I could certainly handle myself, as I’d insisted last time I bathed, but when it came time to strip off I hesitated.
Before when I undressed in front of my handmaidens it was to reveal a body that had been forced on me, one I didn’t identify with. It wasn’t the real me. That was what I’d told myself. But now… there was a whole new sense of exposure in undressing the ‘me’ that I had chosen to be; baring my real body.
Agytha couldn’t have understood of course, and I wasn’t about to start explaining, so I had no choice but to take my dress off in the end. The grey-blue harpy folded it nicely for me while I was clumsily adjusting the temperature of the water.
Dwarfed by the large wooden tub I felt all the more exposed once I was inside. I did my best to clean my body – and let Agytha clean me – without being overly self-conscious. I failed of course.
At first I’d been glad of how quiet my harpy companion was being, but as the bath wrapped up I wondered if there was a problem.
“Agytha?” I asked, after she had tipped out the remaining water and helped me dress.
“Yes, mistress Saf?”
“Are you feeling better after our talk yesterday?”
The small harpy’s guilty look was cute, but decidedly not what I had hoped for.
“If anyone’s bothering you-”
She shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing like that, mistress. I just… have something on my mind. It’s nothing you should worry about.”
“If it’s something you’re uncomfortable talking about then I understand. But I do worry when a friend’s troubled.”
Her small mouth opened... then closed. Her wings were drooping unhappily as she hesitated.
“It’s okay to just tell me.”
“It’s foolish.”
“I won’t laugh.”
“Not that sort of foolish, mistress. I… I’m just worried. About my sister.”
“There’s nothing foolish about that, she’s a Valkyrie like your mom, right? It’s natural to be worried.”
“Not her, not Maryam. I’m worried about Ryta; my youngest sister, the one in the flight corps. She’s in Grand Chasm and some of their flyers went missing recently. They’re saying no-one knows what happened to them, they vanished without trace.”
“Are you afraid something similar could happen to Rita?”
“Ryta, mistress…. I know it’s foolish to worry, and the Cyclopean Bones have always been safe for us, and the flight corps are trained well, and if anything its mother and Maryam I should be thinking of, but….”
“You’re worried about your little sister.”
I reached up to put a hand gently on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Agytha, worries don’t always have to be logical. You worry about your little sister because she’s your little sister. Like how Ael worries about Arawn, even though Arawn is probably the strongest person in the whole Empire after her.”
The young girl looked her age for once, surprised by my words. She put her own hand on mine.
“Thank you, mistress Saf…. I didn’t think you’d understand.”
It was as if she’d been taught that exposing her feelings could only lead to ridicule or dismissal. It made me want to pick her up and give her a good hug. It also made me want to find those other harpies who’d been bullying her and give them something else entirely.
“I told you, you can rely on me, Agytha. Like a friend, okay? I won’t tell anyone you have feelings.”
I grinned conspiratorially. She smiled back, despite her best efforts.
“Mistress Safkhet is a tease.”
“I leant it from Ael you know. She’s merciless.”
“And scary.” Agytha nodded – then held a hand up to her mouth in shock at the slip.
I could only giggle at her accidental honesty, and soon Agytha was laughing too.
The shared moment of impropriety and the rest of the friendly talk which followed seemed to do the handmaiden good. By the time Agytha was leaving for the night it was with a subtle smile playing around the corners of her mouth. The rest of her face was prim and proper of course, but anyone who knew her could tell she’s brightened up.
“Have a good night, Agytha.”
“Mistress Saf… would you call me Aggy? If you don’t mind, that is.”
“Hmmm… are you sure that’s alright? I wouldn’t want to be improper you know. After all, you still call me mistress!”
“But that’s different, mistr-”
“Ah-ah! If you want me to call you Aggy then you have to call me Saf. No mistress, no ‘Lady Safkhet’. To my friends I’m just Saf.”
“But I’m not your-”
“Aggy. You’re my handmaiden so you have to do what I say, right?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“I say you’re my friend and that means you have to call me Saf.”
Her stoic expression finally cracked and she returned my grin. “Yes… Saf.”
Pulling her into a hug, I patted the taller girl’s shoulder.
“Good. And thank you, Aggy. For being my friend.”
I felt a rush of gratitude as she hugged me back.
“Thank you too, Saf. Goodnight.”
Once she’d left I found myself still beaming as I lay on my bed, thinking about the friends I’d made in Arcadia, Aellope and Arawn, Agytha and Chione, and Shukra of course. Maybe even Karlya? I couldn’t know for sure how most of them felt about me, but I had been pretty confident about Ael. That went for Aggy too now.
Just thinking about the girls was fun, recalling our conversations and even our arguments. They were all precious memories filled with emotion. It made me think my feelings must be somehow heightened here in Arcadia. They had to be, because I was crying for no reason.
Had I ever been so connected with anyone back on Earth? Had I even been connected with myself?
I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of the lacy nightgown I was wearing.
Chione had taken my green dress, to clean for tomorrow. That would have had me worried given her usual delicacy, but the dress was an enchanted item, magically able to repair itself. Assuming she didn’t somehow totally destroy it, any damage would be remedied just by putting it back on.
It made me wonder if any of the other items from the vault were magical, but even with my growing acceptance, even welcoming of the new me, I still wasn’t ready to try on most of what we’d found there.
I’d only just reached the point of… well… admitting to myself that I was a woman. One step at a time.
~~~
The following day I continued my training with Karlya and the other Valkyries still at the Eyrie.
Combat felt comfortable to me now. It was easy to focus my mind, to separate the vital details of my opponent’s shifting gaze and posture from the rush of extraneous information. The slightest tensing of the calves and flight muscles could give away an attack before it came, if you knew to look.
Of course most people took years, even decades, to develop the senses, focus and reactions to actually pick up on such things. There I had taken a shortcut. It had been a shortcut through hell, but a shortcut all the same.
My own movements were also improving; becoming smoother and more precise as I grew accustomed to my body. I was finally feeling used to the shape and length of my limbs and the redistribution of weight to my hips and chest, to the power in my muscles and the speed they could produce.
Honestly, although it was meant to be grueling training, it was incredibly fun and satisfying to push my mind and body to the limit fighting. Even when I lost I could feel myself improving, doing better each time. The sense of empowerment was a heady one. It was no wonder some people got addicted to fighting.
The only part I didn’t like was getting hurt. I’d had plenty of that in Myr’s realm. So far with the Harpies I’d been learning to fight while avoiding injury, but as the battle-scarred older Valkyrie said, shy too fearfully from the blades of foes and they were sure to notice, and press the advantage. There were even times when you had to be resolved to risk a light hit in order to land a heavy one and claim victory. Or so I was told.
In my case that was unlikely to result in any lasting damage, but I was still naturally resistant to letting an opponent cut my skin.
But the biggest weakness I had to deal with was negating impacts. Given a moment to prepare I could now ‘anchor’ myself well enough that I wouldn’t be thrown around by my own attacks, but instantaneous negation of the momentum of strikes from others was still beyond my abilities.
That was a problem here in Arcadia. In this world a powerful enemy could strike with more force than a speeding truck. Hits wouldn’t just injure me; they would send me flying too.
Of course that was only if I got hit in the first place. I was getting a lot better at reading feints and dodging. I was still lacking experience, to say the least, but I could reliably beat Karlya one on one – or any three of her subordinates.
After combat training I took a break to read in the library until afternoon came around and it was time to study magic with Shukra.
We began with mana control. That was a long term project – after three days of practice I still couldn’t stop it escaping – but I was excited to find that I could move it inside my body a little.
It felt like trying to twist and shape solid steel barehanded. If anything that might have been easier for me at this point. Progress was progress however. Shukra was also pleased with my results, paying me a rare compliment on my improved control.
Naturally she couldn’t help but burst my bubble shortly afterwards, when she announced that my mana leakage was getting worse.
Apparently most people’s mana reserves grew larger as they practiced and forced their bodies to keep generating more. It was like training your muscles. Of course normal people would train until they were running low, then stop so as to avoid collapsing from mana exhaustion. Totally expending your mana was more like pulling a muscle – it wouldn’t help you improve at all.
In my case I was perpetually discharging essence in vast amounts, yet the pace of emission barely matched production. Far from running out, the unintentional mana training I was doing was only increasing my mana production more!
Containing the emanations might be unfeasible for the moment, but we also discussed a few possible alternatives. I had questioned the need for any remedy, but Shukra explained how my essence shone out like a beacon to anyone sensitive to magic.
The best idea the young witch had to stop that was dumping my excess mana into a magical object, but the harpies had no artisan able to craft a vessel to contain that much energy.
At least it might prove a long term solution, once things were more settled and I could travel freely to meet some of the other Arcadian cultures. I had hopes that the dwarves could make something suitable for me.
After training I invited Shukra to join me in the hall for dinner.
She declined with her typical bluntness, but I didn’t blame her. It wasn’t always easy being low-born in the Eyrie, even for those given official court status like her.
~~~
After being turned down by Shukra I was all the more disappointed to find Ael wasn’t at dinner either. With Arawn also away that left me without anyone to talk to while I ate – or so I’d thought. It turned out to be a surprisingly social meal.
I was sat at the top table as usual, but, unlike when the queen was present, other diners actually conversed with me as I ate.
Conversation was coming more easily to me than it ever had on Earth, so I ended up talking to an impressive variety of people, high and low-born. Some clearly just wanted to ingratiate themselves with the queen’s new friend, but others were just being friendly or showed genuine interest. It was fascinating to listen to the very different people talking about themselves and what they did. I even got invited to go fishing!
A few people seemed to have some very odd ideas about just what my connection with Ael was though – one girl even asked if we were going to announce our relationship at court!
Maybe it was my imagination running away with me, but I was pretty sure she could only mean one thing. I was quick to deny it. The last thing Ael needed was strange rumors that she was dating a human. I wasn’t even sure how or if that would work.
I also wasn’t sure how dating would work for me in general at that point of course. Perhaps I was just avoiding thinking about it, but with everything else going on it wasn’t really a priority right now.
Despite a few embarrassing moments, I was still enjoying getting to know the other members of Ael’s court when a long shadow fell over the table.
“Lady Safkhet,” spoke the large figure who cast it.
She took a seat opposite me, preening her bronze plumage with her tail.
Ventora was not someone I was eager to socialize with. She gave me a cordial bow of her head, a formal smile on her gracefully aged features. Her eyes never seemed to smile with her lips however; they radiated an aura of experience and control, which left no room for warmth.
“How is the fish today?” she asked of my chosen dinner.
“It’s delicious, even just grilled and salted. Apparently it was caught fresh this morning in a lake down in the mountains.”
“Lake Sekhtam. The fishing is good year round, and the turquoise waters are clear and tranquil. My mothers often took me there when I was a fledgling.”
“Do you ever go now?”
“Ah… I wish that were possible. Flightmother passed away while I was young, killed valiantly while defending our family seat, Qis.”
“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that, Lady Ventora.”
“Do not be. She died doing her duty and proving to all her nobility and valor.”
Her proud answer was little too practiced.
“Broodmother went on to rule for many years and built a prosperous and thriving town. Even today our homelands are rich and plentiful all thanks to her wisdom.”
“Do you go back often?”
“The duties at court keep us all occupied, but I return whenever I can find the time. I was lucky to enjoy a trip there with the Priestess herself recently. I had the honor of showing her our ancestral roost and the town.”
“Ah, I pray that Priestess Thessaly might one day bless my own family with a visit,” another harpy sighed wistfully. “She so seldom leaves the Eyrie….”
“If Priestess Thessaly were to visit another territory it should be mine,” another noblewoman suggested.
Ventora cleared her throat before anyone could start an argument. “The Priestess’ time is too precious to make repeated trips away. But I believe you each have other priorities you should be concerning yourself with.”
“It’s as you say, Lady Ventora,” answered another high-born woman, pink and red feathers puffing out in irritation. “My own territory of Ramhorn requires constant attention. You would hardly believe the headaches the low-born fools calling themselves guards give me. Of course the huntresses and herders are worse still – to say nothing of the ogres in the workshops! They all seem to expect food and shelter for nothing!”
She attacked the whole roast fowl on her plate with a knife, cutting off a drumstick to dip in sauce.
Another spoke up while she was distracted. “The beastfolk in my territory are even worse, despite all I’ve done for them! I had to have a whole cabal thrown in cells after they were caught spreading treasonous ideas of ‘secession’. None of them considered that, even if they could somehow leave the Empire, it would mean leaving the homes the Empire gave them and leaving our protection too!”
“Both are regrettable situations. You have my sympathy.” Ventora spoke again. “Few of our subjects have the proper respect for the order of things. They cannot imagine how hard we work for their sakes, building peace, prosperity and a future for our society.”
“We’ve failed to keep them in line and now they’re getting stupid ideas,” the pink speaker growled, having swallowed her mouthful of drumstick.
“We’ve been too lenient,” the second chimed in. “Some even think they don’t need us. Can you imagine?!”
Ventora nodded somberly. “However, we should not blame them – if they fail to understand that is our failing in teaching them. We must to show them the necessity of the proper order, a society where leaders are respected and followers work to benefit everyone. All begins from there, from the guidance of the nobility and the obedience of the low-born.”
Her gaze lingered on me as she spoke, but if she was hoping for my agreement she went wanting.
“Wonderful words, Lady Ventora,” the first speaker nodded. “But my subjects don’t care about the order of society, they just want to eat, drink and revel.”
I bit my lip as I watched the aristocratic harpies waxing lyrical, all the while demolishing a mountain of food and drink. I would have liked to argue with them but I didn’t see that going anywhere positive.
“You look troubled, Lady Safkhet,” Ventora noted, seeing through my discomfort all too easily. “I’m sorry for the difficult topic at dinner. You shouldn’t fret; our empire is stable and prosperous. Every nation has it’s unrest from time to time. One generation stamps it out, only for it to remerge with the next. That is why we work so hard after all – to prevent the ignorance of the masses from leading to greater problems – or bloodshed, Goddess forbid.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but I never had to answer.
A ripple of alarm was moving through the hall, which my eyes traced back to the entrance. Masika, another of the queen’s advisors, appeared to have just arrived with dramatic news.
For a horrible moment I thought it was a report from the South, but it was too soon for Arawn’s forces to have reached Southtown, let alone have sent back word of the outcome of the battle.
Yet the wizened blue harpy was in clear distress. Word soon reached our table as to why. A flyer had come, bearing dire news. The small dryad town of Arbour was under attack and the Queen had called an emergency meeting of the court.